Chapter 9
nine
Nesrina stands on a chaise lounge.
Nesrina lay in bed for a good twenty minutes after she woke, her brain replaying the unfortunate encounter with the duke over and over again. His sharp jaw, pursed mouth that spit fire, that angrily disheveled hair. She rolled her eyes, scoffing at the bed curtains.
“Rihan,” she whispered, willing her mind to replace visions of Lord Kahoth with her guard. A nice common man, a respectable career, decent wage, young in the face. That had to be good for his . . . future aging?
With a scoff, Nes got on with her day, her sights set on eight hours down the line when she could meet her guard in the garden, gossip about the incident, and maybe recreate some of its finer aspects.
Pulling open her closet door, She froze, a hand flying to her mouth.
Where her four dresses and cloak once hung, lonely in the large walk-in space, they were now joined by six brand-new day dresses and—were those gowns?
! She gasped, in absolute awe of the rainbow of fabrics before her.
Whose are these?
On cue, a series of muted raps sounded on her door.
“Come in!” she called, recognizing Aylin’s soft fist. Nesrina popped out of the closet as the friendly chambermaid popped in, balancing a stack of fresh towels in one hand and a breakfast tray in the other. She used a cord of water to shut the door behind herself.
“Good morning, miss.” The gray-haired woman was beaming as she located Nesrina’s head sticking out of the closet.
“Do you know anything about these?” Nes went back to picking through the dresses. Coral, gray and white, blue and yellow . . .
“I sure do!” Aylin called from the opposite end of the apartment where she laid out breakfast in the sunny sitting area.
“Well . . . whose are they?” A patterned rose and white dress; a white one, eyelet lace trimmed in deep blue silk.
“Yours, miss.” Her voice was closer now as she made up Nesrina’s bed.
A paisley printed dress in every shade of the sunset.
“These aren’t mine.” She shook her head and moved down the line.
A deep blue gown, embroidered with bronze; the finest thing she’d ever touched—until she got to the next one, and the next.
When she reached the final gown, Aylin had joined her in the closet.
“They’re yours, I assure you. Lord Kahoth had me unpack the delivery myself.”
“Oh.” Her cry of disbelief was aimed at both the maid and the golden concoction in her hands.
It made her see stars; it was so beautiful.
Had there been some mistake? Would she be tasked with repaying whoever crafted so many gorgeous designs?
It was a wardrobe fit for a lady, not a tutor.
It was too much, too aristocratic. But .
. . the Rashooli family were merchants, commoners, and their clothes were as fine.
Anxiety skittered down her neck as she said, “It’s too much.
Where is this from? Who is this from? I didn’t order it. ”
Aylin chuckled warmly. “It’s not. I don’t know, I don’t know, and I know. I’m sorry I don’t have any answers for you. I’m following orders, miss.” She gave Nesrina a cheeky salute.
“Well, what do you think . . . Should I wear one of the new ones?”
The maid guffawed. “I think you’d be a fool not to.”
With a grin, she selected the dress with paisley print.
“A wonderful choice. Your new slippers are in the wardrobe.”
Nes balked.
In half-hearted search of the duke and some answers, Nes walked into the empty dining room, doors closing behind her as those at the opposite end opened and the man himself waltzed in.
Like her, he was using it as a cut-through.
She hadn’t actually expected to find him so easily, hadn’t even wanted to be successful in her endeavor, but alas, it was apparently her lucky day.
Needs must, she sighed, standing as tall as possible in her perfect new dress and matching slippers. She felt quite fine. Still common, but fine. Not getting lost in the glitz. Not at all.
“Greetings,” she said as the doors clicked behind him.
No response.
“Lord Kahoth,” she tried again, louder this time, stepping forward.
He walked toward her, eyes so shuttered she would have thought them closed, if not for the way he avoided running into a chair as he swung to walk down the other lened side of the long table.
He’s furious. “Duke?” She held her head high and raised her voice just a bit, bolstering it with confidence she didn’t actually feel.
No reply. There was no way he hadn’t heard her. What was he on about? They literally crossed paths on opposite sides of the table, and he never once graced her with so much as a huff of frustration.
He was going to walk right past and leave the room, and there was nothing she could do about it.
That bloody duke and his lack of manners was going to be the death of her.
She’d seen him speaking with other members of the staff, gods.
What was this? He was so rude! Unbelievable.
Childish. She smacked her hands down on the table. “Lord Kahoth!”
He stalled, spinning to face her with a dark pull in his gaze that threatened to swallow her up. A smile flitted across his face, incongruous with what she’d read as anger. “Miss Kiappa.”
Infuriating man. Was he so deep in thought he hadn’t realized she was speaking to him?
So angry he was giving her the silent treatment on purpose?
Or was this . . . teasing? She swallowed her ire with a spoonful of confusion, chest rising and falling in little pants until she had it all tucked safely away.
“Lord Kahoth.” Nes returned his half-smile with one of her own as she composed herself, praying to the gods he hadn’t been paying attention to her outburst. Then she gestured placidly at her dress.
“What might you be able to tell me about this, and the dozen other new things in my closet?” She turned to make her way back up the length of the table, and he joined her, walking parallel until they reached the end.
The duke raked his eyes over her low-cut ensemble. It would have been a scandalous choice if she weren’t wearing a chemise beneath. Another new item. “Twenty-three.”
“What?”
“It’s a gift,” he said, eyeing her so strangely she nearly slapped the table again—to snap him out of it. “From my sister.”
“From the queen?” Nes was astounded. It wasn’t uncommon for royal staff to have a clothing allowance in addition to their uniforms, she’d learned as much from their other tutors over dinner one night at the palace.
Her father had never mentioned the custom.
It must have been new. Either way, she hadn’t heard of anyone being gifted a wardrobe pre-made.
Perhaps Queen Hevva knew Nes would have no time for a shopping trip in Stormhill and took it upon herself to provide.
That woman took caring for her people to a new level.
He shrugged.
“I’ll send her a note of gratitude immediately.”
“Dondothat.” The duke spoke so quickly she had to take a second to decipher what he’d said.
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t like thank-you notes.”
“Are you teasing me?” She had to ask. Who doesn’t like thank-you notes?
He shrugged again. Retreating to that place of silence and disarming, unreadable stares.
Perhaps the queen’s dislike of written benedictions wasn’t so odd after all, considering she was related to this peculiar man.
“Speaking of the queen . . .” Nes changed the subject and in the most patronizing version of her tutor-voice said, “Did you remember to eat your breakfast, Kahoth? Don’t neglect your lunch, either. ”
She spun to walk out the door, but his huge palm landed on her shoulder, sputtering out her forward momentum. Her strange heart pirouetted as she turned back to face him.
He quirked a brow. “What does that have to do with my sister?”
Cheeks heating, in no small part due to warmth from his hand soaking through her sleeve, she pinched her lips.
He stared straight down at her, eyes a swirling stormy gray. “Is she paying you to remind me to eat?”
When Nes bit her lip between her teeth, he brought his second hand up to her arm and tugged her closer so she was forced to crane her neck to maintain eye contact.
A burst of energy thrummed through her bones, and her pulse stuttered.
Their position felt oddly like dancing but with more tension and less movement.
He’d be so easy to kiss— Her lips popped open.
Lord Kahoth’s thumb swiped over her clavicle as he leaned in close to ask, “Did Hevva put pestering me in your job description?”
She nearly laughed at his phrasing but managed to put the burst of energy he roused in her to good use instead, reaching up to squeeze his bicep. Tit for tat.
Startled, he sucked in a breath.
“She is paying me, handsomely.” With that, Nes flashed him a smug smile, spun on her heel, and marched away.
She reasoned it must have been a trick of the blood pumping in her ears when she heard him snort out a laugh as she stomped off.
Nesrina wandered across the north lawn with a book and a blanket, anticipating time alone with Rihan in the garden.
She paused to scratch a passing wolfhound who’d cut her off and demanded attention.
Enoth or Vites, she couldn’t tell them apart, would’ve kept her occupied all day, but the exuberant dog was summoned elsewhere by a shrill whistle, and Nes continued on her way.
She intended to squeeze in a few minutes of reading before her guard came to join her beneath the willow tree, then they’d share the happenings of their days and smooch for a bit before heading in for dinner.